Day 32 started the way many day-after-the-day-after-a-rest-day starts: cautiously optimistic… and slightly suspicious.

Two days earlier we’d rested. The day after that? Chaos. Four flats, my right leg throwing a tantrum, John’s left leg staging its own protest. At some point we realized that if you combined us carefully, we’d make one fully functioning cyclist. Strong right leg? That’s John. Strong left leg? That’s me. We joked about tying ourselves together like some kind of two-man human centipede of cycling efficiency.

So this morning, when we rolled out of Ville Platte, Louisiana, staring down an 80-mile ride to St. Francisville, we were convinced (or at least loudly claiming) that we had finally solved our flat problem and that our legs would remember they like biking across a continent.

The route was dead flat, and honestly, we weren’t about to argue with that. I spent much of the day looking forward to one thing: crossing the Mississippi River near the end of the ride. We also had our eye on a coffee shop in St. Francisville that closed at 4pm. Experience has taught us that getting emotionally attached to a destination coffee shop is dangerous, so we held that dream loosely and set off fueled instead by optimism, hope, and the blind confidence only cyclists on Day 32 possess.

The morning was gorgeous. Louisiana bayous and cypress swamps stretched on forever, dripping with atmosphere like something out of a movie.

Somewhere en route to the second water stop, I spotted my first aligator in the wild.

It was a solid reminder that we were no longer in Texas—or wherever we still thought we were—but in Proper Louisiana.

Somewhere between water stops, a small miracle occurred:
Our legs didn’t just come around… they felt magical.

Both of us were suddenly riding smooth and strong. No complaints. No negotiations. Just watts.

After the second stop, we grouped up with the van riding behind us for safety and tackled a six-mile bridge (which optimistically turned out to be “more like four”). Norm set a steady pace, and we floated across it like a group of cyclists who absolutely did not just survive four flats yesterday.

After lunch came the moment.

We rolled onto the John James Audubon Bridge

and crossed the Mississippi River—a thing I’ve only known through geography lessons and Mark Twain books. I’d never been over it before, and it was every bit as massive and grand as I’d imagined. Crossing it felt like a genuine milestone.

And then it hit us:
Today is April 8.
We left on March 8.

A full month of riding our bikes across the country… marked by rolling over the Mississippi River. That doesn’t suck.

We arrived in St. Francisville at 3pm, which in cyclist math meant “plenty of time,” so we headed straight for Birdman Coffeehouse and Eatery. Coffee was consumed, legs were propped up, and we officially porched on their beautiful patio for a solid hour, soaking in the moment.

The stats say it all:

• ✅ 80 miles
• ✅ ZERO flats
• ✅ One month in
• ✅ Crossing the Mississippi
• ✅ Coffee achieved

It was a truly great day riding our bikes across the country, and we’re incredibly thankful to be able to do this—and to be having such a blast doing it together.

And yes… we still yelled,
“We are riding our bikes across the country!”